Lining Up the Shot
by The Plastic Owl
Summary: Kinky Meyer/Rothstein slash! Oh, the games they play...


There was a soft knock at the door.

'Come in.'

Arnold Rothstein refused to look at his protégée, Meyer Lansky, as he entered the office. He simply lined up the shot, and then there was the familiar sound of the ball falling into the pocket.

'You wanted to see me, A.R?'

'That I did.'

Meyer waited for more information, but A.R refused to explain why he'd been summoned. Stuffing his hands in his pockets so that his boss wouldn't see them trembling slightly, he fixed his face into his default grin.

A.R finally potted all the balls, and then went over to the blue chalk. He picked it up, considered it, then put it down again. Instead, he got out a handkerchief from his back pocket and then began to rub all the remaining chalk off the cue vigorously. His eyes locked with Meyer's.

'You know I've always been very fond of you, Meyer.'

Meyer's face began to burn.

'But, it has recently come to my attention that Mr. Luciano is as well.'

'Sure. We work together.'

'And you see each other socially,' A.R prompted.

Meyer spread his hands, being careful to keep them steady. 'A.R. Charlie and I –'

'So it's Charlie now? I thought we both called him 'Lucky'.'

'Okay, so Lucky and I, we got to the races sometimes. It's no big thing.'

A.R nodded slowly, sizing up the diminutive Lansky. 'And then what?'

'And then we go home.'

'Together?'

'No, of course not. We part ways.'

'When was the last time you two were at the races?'

'Last Friday. War Admiral was runnin' at the Belmont.'

'And then you returned home?'

'Yes.'

'Funny. Because when I rang your mother last Friday, enquiring of your whereabouts, she informed me that you were staying with Luciano at the Blue Iguana, off Broadway.'

There was an awkward pause.

'She also asked me to tell you to lay off the _halvah_. It'll rot your teeth.'

Lansky swallowed, his throat dry. He put his hands back in his pockets for a split second, then raised them again, thinking better of it. 'A.R –'

Rothstein was a stout man, but he moved with surprising swiftness. Before Lansky could spin another lie, A.R had grabbed the younger man, and slammed him chest-first against the pool table. Meyer let out a 'whoomf' as the air gushed out of his lungs. He struggled against the older man, but A.R was relentless, pressing himself against his captive, forcing his legs to be splayed and his body bent over.

As Meyer tried to get air back into his lungs, A.R turned to the side, letting up some of the pressure, but still keeping his hand firmly on Meyer's back. He drew back the arm holding the pool cue, and then swished it forward, the wood making a sharp crack as it connected with Meyer's ass.

Meyer let out a string of Yiddish curses, and A.R whipped him again.

'You know I don't tolerate that sort of language! If you're going to be like that I may as well dump you back in the gutters of the Bowery!'

Meyer went still, head in his arms. A.R could hear the young man quietly sobbing.

'You know you're mine _exclusively, _don't you?'

There was no reply. A.R whipped him, and Meyer yelped out an affirmation.

'You know what's going to happen now, don't you?' A.R rubbed Meyer's back in what was almost a tender gesture. 'You're going to count every one.'

It went on for sixteen strokes. Even though there was fabric between the wood and his skin, Meyer could still feel the harsh sting as the cue beat into his flesh. By the time A.R finished his voice was hoarse from screaming and his tears were a steady stream.

As with all the times that these incidents had happened – Rothstein was indeed a jealous man - A.R's hand slowly slid from Meyer's back to his buttocks, caressing them.

'Are you badly hurt?' He asked mildly.

Meyer began to straighten slowly, shaking his head.

'No. Stay there.'

Meyer went back down, heart beating swiftly. They had never done anything in A.R's office before. It was usually at hotels, most times at the Algonquin. Sometimes in the bed that A.R shared with Carolyn.

A.R's hand left his body, and then Meyer could feel him unbuckle his belt. He slowly slid down Meyer's trousers, and then his underwear. Meyer shivered slightly, both from nerves and cold. A.R insisted on having air conditioned offices, to keep the milk jug fresh.

A.R slid a hand between Meyer's legs, cupping his balls. He then leaned forward, and softly kissed his neck. But then, abruptly, he withdrew from the other man.

'A.R… ? What are you - ?' Meyer looked up to see A.R at his desk, still holding the pool cue. He was dipping his handkerchief into a small tin of what seemed to be grease. Perhaps Brylcreem.

'Stay there.'

He came book, a smirk on his face, rubbing the pool cue with the Brylcreem. Meyer guessed what he was going to do and began to protest.

THWACK!

Meyer shrieked as the cue connected, the pain harder because of the lack of layers. A bright pink mark bloomed on his skin.

'Meyer, it's not enough that you've been seeing a man. It's that you've been seeing Charlie. _Charlie_. The man is riddled with diseases, curses, drinks like a fish, and is such a… ' A.R struggled for an apt description. 'Such a _hoodlum_.'

'I'm sorry,' Meyer whimpered.

'You're going to be.'

A.R moved out of his line of sight, and instructed him to look forward. Meyer trembled.

'What are you doing now?'

'I just have to line up the shot.'

Meyer let out a scream as the pool cue poked him up the ass. His nails dug into the green pool covering as six inches of wood was inserted into his body. A.R was still for a few seconds, allowing Meyer's frantic breathing to slow down and his body to adjust, before sliding the cue back and forth. He could feel his own penis becoming as hard as the cue's timber.

This went on for some time. The only sound in the Park Avenue offices were of the two men panting heavily, Meyer every now and then letting out a groan. A.R then withdrew the pool cue, leaving Meyer to regain his composure.

'That will be all,' remarked Rothstein.

He went over to his desk, and calmly started peeling a fig.

4


End file.
